


two minutes past midnight; two shots past far gone

by Addie_D_123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drunken Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, New Year's Eve, Pining, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3070337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Addie_D_123/pseuds/Addie_D_123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam calls Dean on New Year's Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two minutes past midnight; two shots past far gone

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The phone is hot pressed against his flushed face. It’s two minutes past midnight and he’s two shots past far gone. He chokes on a swig of warm beer right as the ringing clicks over to voicemail.

_ Hey, this is Dean. Leave it. _

_ Hey. Uhhhh…I wasn’t sure if this number would still be connected. So it’s good-that’s good that I can talk to you. Er, leave you a message. So… _

_ Is it midnight there yet? I mean, I don’t even know where you are, man. Like, is it cold there? Are you alone? _

_ I am. Heh, I didn’t have to be, either. Had someone practically begging to come home with me. You would have been proud, at least I think so. Maybe. _

_ Their name was, his name was Alan, or Aaron or something. Whatever. Anyway, he was all over me but I kept thinking, I mean all I could think about was-oh man, I forgot. You probably didn’t even know I liked dudes, so, well…I do. So there’s that. I mean that’s nothing compared to what I actually called to tell you. So about that… _

_ This is a little harder than I thought it would be. Everything is. I mean with you not around. I’m just tired all the time and, like, some nights I can’t sleep. My bed feels too big. _

_ *click* _

He wipes tears away with the back of his hand and dials the number again with slippery fingers.

_ Hey, this is Dean. Leave it. _

_ Is it two-thousand-three there yet? Isn’t that weird? That we could be living in different years, two different times in this very second? Man, I am so drunk. Dean…Dean. I have to tell you something, you just have to know. I miss you, so much it hurts-squeezes in my chest and pulls across my back like someone is sitting on my shoulders. And I came home tonight and I couldn’t stop thinking about you and…Dean…I touched myself and thought about your voice, how much I need to hear it. And your eyes after you cry when they look like they’re electric, and I came harder than I have in so long. Just thinking about you-my brother. My beautiful big brother. Oh god- _

_ And your hands, fuck I love your hands. _

_ *click* _

The bottle of whiskey is half finished now, sloshing around in his empty belly. The empty beer bottles lined up around the foot of his bed like good little soldiers. He forgot to eat dinner again, or lunch. He keeps doing that.

_ Hey, this is Dean. Leave it. _

_ I wonder if you’ll ever speak to me again..after these messages. If you’ll ever even think of me anymore or just try and forget I exist. Do you miss me, like I miss your terrible jokes, puns…whatever. I’m sorry I never called you back before. I saved your messages. Listen to them when my chest feels too tight. It helps. You’re such an asshole, Dean, do you even know? I’m an asshole, a drunk asshole and I’m gonna go now. Just erase these, just forget about them, about me. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry. Bye, Dean. _

_ *click* _

He thinks he should make himself throw up, maybe he’d feel better. The sickening mix of alcohol and anxiety has the room spinning around his head. He really wishes he could get to the sink for a glass of water. Or curl up in a ball and disappear. He is fighting against unconsciousness when he feels it. A faint vibration coming from his right hand. His throat closes up and his head throbs in time with his pulse. Heart fluttering against his ribcage, that way it always does when he thinks of him. He knows who's calling without looking at his phone but he forces himself to. This is it. It’s happening. In this moment, stuck somewhere between the years and teetering on the edge of everything. The little green screen is so bright in the dark room. And those four little letters that mean home.

**DEAN**

**Author's Note:**

> Wishing everyone a safe and happy New Year!  
> xx


End file.
